The Adventure with Ms Cummings
by CommadoreRobespierre
Summary: When a mysterious young woman accosts Holmes demanding a watch, the famous London detective and his faithful companion are embroiled in a new adventure to challenge not only their detective skills, but also their understanding of human nature.


**The Adventure with Ms. Cummings**

It was a grey and bitter twilight in the streets of London, a night demanding one's warmest coat out of doors. Holmes and I had just bid goodbye to my fiancée, Mary, and were now making our way home. Although the night air was chilling and the moon obscured by waves of rolling grey clouds, we had opted to walk in lieu of taking a carriage as the restaurant in which we had dined was only a few blocks away from Baker Street.

"You are quite contented, then," I said to Holmes, "that Mary is undeniably a fine woman. Indeed, I haven't the slightest idea as to how she has put up with your tormenting of her."

"But, my dear Watson, I had to be sure of her. I will allow no common wench to wed my closest companion." Holmes had never been of a high opinion of women, excepting one who had outwitted him almost two years ago, for whom he held the deepest respect. Love, however, was not in Holmes' repertoire. I was about to comment upon Holmes' perception of most women as 'common wenches' when Holmes stopped short. "Watson, did you hear that?" he whispered, his cold eyes scanning our location for any sign of the unusual. "An uncommon sound for a London night-" it was then that the figure leapt down from the rooftop above where they must have been perching, the force of which knocked Holmes to the ground. Given that the figure was not nearly so tall in stature, or so it appeared, as Holmes I expected him quite rapidly to fight them off, but nothing of the sort occurred. In fact, Holmes remained completely still, and it soon became apparent that the figure had some sort of weapon aimed at him.

"Get up, slowly, if you please." Here was an astounding revelation; not due to the nature of the words, but to the vocal qualities of the speaker who was undoubtedly a woman, although she was disguised in a long coat and hat. I had no time to ponder upon such an extraordinary event, however, as I watched Holmes rise slowly and quite calmly to his feet. He was, when standing, a full head taller than his assailant, who kept what appeared to be a knife steady at his throat. "The watch, you must give me the watch," commanded the woman of Holmes, who seemed surprised at such a specific demand.

"And what watch would this be?" he asked evenly.

"Silver with the initials 'E.V.H' engraved. Where is it?" As this conversation took place, I gradually and silently began to step towards them as the woman had her back to me, raising my cane as I did so.

"My dear girl, I haven't the faintest idea as to what you're talking about," exclaimed Holmes, slightly sardonically. Even with a dagger to his throat, he seemed in control of the situation. I only hoped such suave bravado would not get him hurt. The knife pressed more firmly against his neck and a flicker of pain flashed through my friend's eyes.

"It's no use lying, Mr. Holmes, you must give it to me. I don't want to hurt you, but I must have the watch."

"Must you, really?"

"Yes, I must!" I was upon them now, and had only to swing my cane when the woman, who must have sensed my movement, suddenly flung herself around, kicking Holmes to the ground, to grab the cane and hold the knife to my own throat. "Let go." I obliged, being in no circumstances to do otherwise. "Turn around." I did so. I was awaiting either a blow or further instruction when I felt a rush of air, as of the woman turning around, and heard a loud crack, whereupon a body fell heavily to the pavement. I whirled around to see Holmes with his own stick raised, and the girl, for she was hardly older than eighteen, sprawled upon the ground, a great gash upon her brow where her head had struck the fallen dagger.

"My God, Watson, say that I have not killed her! She has fallen upon her blade, see there!" I briskly knelt and felt the girl's pulse.

"She is not dead, Holmes, but requires medical attention. How far is the hospital?"

"Too far; our abode is closer. Let us take her there, and, besides, I would like to question her when she awakes." Gently, I picked her up as Holmes gathered my cane and the stray hat and dagger.

"How light she is, Holmes! She can't have eaten well for days."

"Most singular," murmured Holmes as we hastily completed our journey home.

Once arrived, I carried the girl upstairs to my chamber.

"Lay a rag beneath her head for the blood," I said to Holmes.

"And remove her coat," he added, which he took and examined. I lay her on the bed, then commenced to clean, stitch and bandage the wound. When at last it was done we sat in silence awhile.

"Well, what do you make of it, Holmes?" I asked. Holmes smiled.

"Why, as much as you do, Watson. A girl, obviously sent by another with either the promise of payment or blackmail to obtain this watch." He opened a draw of the desk and removed a package, taking from it the watch of the girl's description. "It was sent to me by post, unmarked, with a note begging that I keep it safe until such time as the recipient is able to collect it. Unfortunately, it seems that our anonymous friend's plan has been discovered and the watch's whereabouts is no longer secret."

"The girl called you by your name."

"Yes. That would suggest that her mission was one of great specificity. But, we shall discover more when she awakes. Unfortunately, her coat pockets were empty except for a photograph of me. The coat itself is well worn with signs of its owner having resorted to theft – see the hand-sewn pockets on the inside – but otherwise unremarkable. When do you expect that she will be awake?" We both turned our gazes to the unconscious figure.

"I'm afraid I can't be sure; you gave her quite a bruise and she was probably already weakened from lack of sustenance." Holmes nodded.

"Well, we must take no chances." He produced two pairs of handcuffs.

"Holmes, is that not quite excessive?" I argued, my doctoral instincts outraged.

"Watson, it seems you have forgotten how she only moments ago leapt upon me from a rooftop and attacked and threatened us both with a knife; she cannot be trusted." I sighed heavily.

"Very well." We bound her hands securely to the bed head; one to each side.

"Good," approved Holmes. "Now, Watson, I feel I need a bath after tonight's events."

"I'll stay here with the patient – I have some work to do anyway," I conceded. Holmes nodded and left whistling.

It was another hour before I heard the first stirrings of the mysterious woman. Looking up from my desk, I saw that she was beginning to open her eyes, groaning softly. I made my way over to her and waited as she blinked uncertainly. "Good evening, miss. I'm a doctor; could you please follow my finger with your eyes?" I drew my finger from side to side and she followed it with relative ease. "How do you feel?" I asked her.

"Heavy and sore – my head is throbbing."

"Yes; you took a bit of a fall. Can you tell me your name?" She concentrated for a moment before it came to her.

"Rose. Rose Cummings."

"And do you know what day it is?" She couldn't recall. "What is the last thing you remember, Ms. Cummings?" At that moment Holmes entered dressed afresh.

"Ah, the lady is awake," he exclaimed with, I thought, I hint of condescension.

"Yes. I was just asking her what she last remembered." Holmes looked at her carefully.

"And what is your answer, mademoiselle?" She looked up at Holmes with a puzzled expression, as if trying to recognise him.

"I remember waking and roaming the streets; I was looking for something…someone." She frowned, and then a realisation shone in her eyes. She looked again at Holmes. "You. I was looking for you. Eventually I found you and followed from a distance, watching, until…"

"You, rather thoughtlessly I must add, tackled me," interjected Holmes.

"Yes. I'm sorry. And I asked you for the clock; that watch." Her brow furrowed as she focused. "I remember nothing beyond that." I nodded.

"Short-term memory loss. From a heavy blow to the temporal lobe." I glanced at Holmes, who looked apologetic, but seemed to harbour no inclination to inform her as to how exactly she merited her wound.

"Yes, my head." She tried to touch the spot with her hand, but was prevented by the manacles. "Why am I handcuffed?" she demanded sharply.

"Because we can't trust you," stated Holmes, stepping forwards. "You threatened us at knife point, if you recall."

"I had no choice!" she protested. "Did I not tell you that I was loathe to do the deed?"

"You did, indirectly," agreed my friend. "Would you care to explain?" He flipped open his notebook in readiness.

"But how do I know that once I've told you, you won't throw me out into the street to die?" I was almost offended with such an accusation, but Holmes at once responded.

"I give you my word, my dear, that if you impart all relevant information to us, we will let you stay here for the night and give you a meal before you leave tomorrow. Is that a fair proposition?" he asked, knowing full well that it was more than fair.

"Will you please release me first? I'm in no position to give you any trouble. I only wish to sit up." Holmes consented and unlocked the manacles.

"Slowly," I guided her as she sat up. She winced as her head hurt.

"I was approached," she began in a small voice. "By a man who would not tell me his name. But, before I tell you about him, I feel I must tell you something about myself so that you may understand my motives." She paused, and I sensed that she was about to tell us something that had never before passed her lips to another. "About two months ago I arrived home one morning after a night away to a silent house. I am nineteen and was still living with my family until I could procure enough money to move out. At first I thought that they must be sleeping late, but eventually grew impatient and sought my parents in their room." Here she turned away, fighting some great flood of emotion. I wanted to comfort her, but Holmes motioned covertly for me to remain still, although I could see that he too already felt empathy for the girl. After a moment she resumed, but in a quavering whisper. "I discovered my parents, and shortly after my siblings, murdered. Their throats had been cut." She again paused to wipe tears from her face, her eyes bright and deep with unthinkable sorrow. Her voice quavered, but remained clear as she resumed: "All the money I had I spent on the upkeep of the house and food, but it soon ran out as bills were due and, much to my horror, no one would hire the daughter of murdered parents. I rationed food, but eventually was forced to steal; I've not seen a proper meal for several weeks. This man approached me yesterday looking for a watch I had never seen nor heard of. He said he could help me track down the murderer of my family if I acquired the watch, which he now believed to be in your possession. He promised me money for food. I had no choice; I had no desire to hurt either of you – I've heard your names, that you're good men -, but he told me it was only attainable by force. I'm so sorry."

She was now incredibly distraught and, her last ounce of self control leaving her, plunged her face into her hands and wept. Holmes and I, although we often dealt with such tragedies, were at a loss for words when confronted with one of its poorer victims. I sat beside her and gingerly put a hand on her shoulder to comfort her. Meanwhile, Holmes was deep in thought, as was his custom.

"Ms. Cummings, you should rest," I said gently when her weeping had subsided. "You may sleep here-"

"Oh no, please, sir, I can't," she pleaded desperately. "For the first few weeks I managed to fight off the nightmares myself, but now, having relived it for you, I fear I will descend and never return. Please - you can't imagine the horror; don't leave me here." She was becoming hysterical. "I can't, I won't sleep." I made to grasp her other arm to calm her, but she tore away and stood up, lurching forwards towards the door. I too rose as I anticipated what was about to happen, but it was Holmes who caught Ms. Cummings as she staggered and slumped to the floor clutching her injured head. She made no further attempts at resistance as we gingerly lifted and supported her.

"You need to rest," I reprimanded her sternly as Holmes and I escorted her back to the bed. "Please, you must calm yourself."

"Watson, fetch her a glass of water, would you?" Holmes finally spoke. "And some bread." I knew better than to argue with him and so reluctantly left to fulfil this task. When I arrived back, the girl was much more peaceful and talking with Holmes quite amiably. "Most observant," Holmes was commenting. "And his attire?"

"He wore a black bowler hat and trench coat to hide his face, and expensive shoes. In fact, his entire outfit looked quite new." Holmes noted this down, then looked up and saw me.

"Ah, Watson. We've made great progress with our questioning; we have established that this man is most likely a Caucasian between the ages of forty and sixty of average height with blue eyes and a pot-belly. And, most careful not to give any impression as to his identity." I laid the tray with water and bread on the bedside table as Holmes continued. "Now, Ms. Cummings, was it?"

"Please, call me Rose."

"Where and in what circumstances did this man make your acquaintance?"

"He came to my house yesterday afternoon. He said he knew my father."

"And he said nothing as to why he wants this watch?"

"No. He was most discreet."

"How were you to deliver it to him?"

"He expected that I would find you fairly quickly, you being so well known in society, and said he'd call tomorrow at the same time to see how I had got on." Holmes considered.

"This is a most interesting case. Tomorrow, would you be willing to meet him at your house and tell him how you were injured in your attempt, but that you now know where the watch is?"

"You mean, neglect to tell him about our alliance?"

"Indeed."

"And then what?"

"You continue working with us, but with the goal of solving the mystery of the importance of this watch to what appears to me to be an unsavoury character."

"Holmes," I warned. "This man may be more dangerous than we know and if he discovers this deception it could well put Ms. Cummings in danger."

"I don't mind," said Ms. Cummings before Holmes could answer. "Would you fear a little danger if you had lost your family and had no hope of employment?"

"Well, that's settled then," Holmes smiled and looked pointedly at his watch. "And, I believe, the rest can wait until morning. Watson, I take it that, as a doctor, you won't mind sharing a room with Ms. Cummings so that she may rest at ease." I nodded, having expected something of the kind. "Good. Well then, until morning." He rose with a final smile and retired to his chamber. I looked across to Ms. Cummings who appeared completely exhausted, as was I. After hastily making up a semblance of a bed upon the floor and Ms. Cummings having taken a little food and water, we succumbed to sleep.

We were awoken by the inviting scent of toast and eggs wafting up from the kitchen. A moment later, Holmes entered the room.

"Both awake? Good. How about some breakfast? Ms. Cummings, you must be ravenous." I rose briskly to assist her in getting up, but the rest seemed to have done her good for she stood upon her own strength and made her way tentatively towards the smell.

"I shouldn't eat too much," she commented when we were all at table, "in case he invites me to eat. It may give him cause for suspicion."

"Well thought of, Ms. Cummings," said Holmes respectfully. How she managed to restrain herself after weeks of malnourishment I cannot fathom, but before long she was ready to leave and we escorted her to the back door so that her exit might escape attention, including the possible attention of her employer.

"I trust you know how to find us again?" I asked, ever wary of the risk she was taking.

"Yes, Dr. Watson. Thank you," she added gratefully.

"Then you shall come here, making sure you are not followed, after your meeting to tell us what took place," said Holmes.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes," she agreed. "Thank you both." And she was gone.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Holmes," I again cautioned him. My friend's sharp eyes turned their icy gaze upon me.

"My dear Watson, do you think that I should put a poor girl's life in danger wantonly? The man cannot but favour her whilst she has information that he requires, if he were so inclined to harm her, and she has been practically living on the streets for weeks now; surely she has enough experience to fend for herself? She certainly took us by surprise last night." Once more I had to agree with this logical conclusion, although my feelings of apprehension didn't. Nonetheless, if there were one man in the world I could ever trust with my, or another's life, it was Sherlock Holmes. "Now, no time to be wasted," continued my friend energetically. "We're off to do some research."

"On the watch?"

"Amongst other things," replied Holmes, ever elusive.

And so it was that I was sent to take the watch to a trusted watchmaker for evaluation whilst Holmes did some unspecified 'research' of his own. However, I was accustomed to his secretive methods and as such took no offence, though felt the customary tinge of frustrated curiosity. It was close to dusk when I returned, and Holmes was sitting at the table surrounded by papers and smoking his pipe. He looked up as I entered. "Any verdict?" he asked.

"The watch appears to be made of pure silver in Eastern European style, most likely owned by a wealthy male. However, it is not, in Barkley's opinion, so valuable as to be worth the effort that this man is expending in order to obtain it." Holmes nodded, as if he had suspected this all along. "May I ask what you have been doing?" said I, eying the chaotic mess of the table.

"Merely reading the last few months newspapers and so forth." My eyes widened in amazement.

"All of them?" I sat down at a less cluttered space at the table, glancing at the content of the newspapers – various articles on a new bridge being constructed, a missing young Prince from Austria amidst the chaos of his parents' assassination, and advertisements for women's scarves, men's suits and assorted other trinkets.

"When one reads the newspaper," asserted Holmes sharply, "it is for information. Why I should read only selected papers and in so doing neglect vital information is beyond me." My face reddened at his scathing reply, but I was saved from answering by the scrape of the back door and footsteps. "Speaking of information, Ms. Cummings is possessed of impeccable timing." We listened as the light footsteps stepped tentatively, wooden floorboards creaking underfoot until she emerged in the doorway. She was again disguised in her long coat and hat, which she now held in her hands having safely traversed the hallway. "Good afternoon, Ms. Cummings. You arrived safely, I take it? Good. Just to your right there is a coat stand if you care for it." She placed her hat upon the stand, but kept her coat on and took the chair next to me. "Tea?"

"Yes, thank you." Holmes poured her a cup and passed her the sugar, of which she took two lumps. Her hands trembled slightly, as if with the excitement of her recent undertaking, but she managed to steady them. I saw Holmes' eyes dart to them for a moment, then back to her face.

"Now, how was your meeting? Give as much relevant detail as possible."

"Well, he was at first angry that I had failed in my task, but calmed a little after I told him that I had discovered where the watch was kept. He tried to make me tell him where, but I insisted that I wanted to earn my wages by completing my mission. He took a lot of convincing, but eventually agreed to give me three days to acquire the watch."

"Did you notice any other distinguishing features about him? Or was there anything else that he said or did that might help to disclose the nature of his identity?" She sipped her tea, considering, but then shook her head.

"No. At least, not that I noticed." Holmes' gaze hardened.

"You don't consider his violent nature to be of importance?" he asked sharply. At this she started, then stared fixedly into her tea. "Your coat has remained buttoned up to your neck this entire time," continued Holmes. "Yet Watson and I are perfectly comfortable wearing only shirts in such a well-heated room. And there is, of course, also the slight trembling of your hands." She grimaced and clutched her cup tighter. Holmes lessened his reproving tone. "He seized you forcefully by the neck, did he not?" She nodded without looking up. "Ms. Cummings, you must show us; the size and shape of the bruises could help in identifying this man."

Slowly, she unbuttoned the coat, revealing four purple bruises, one on one side and four on the other, where her employer had savagely grasped her in his fury. Holmes arose and inspected the bruises minutely. "Not a tradesman, would you agree, Watson? The fingers are quite thin and there are no signs of calluses. How did he grip you, Ms. Cummings? Like so?" Holmes laid his hand around her neck.

"Yes. Exactly like that," she answered softly.

"Hmmm." Holmes lifted his hand and compared its size and position to that of the fingermarks. "Smaller hands than my own, but I am quite long-fingered. How does your hand fit, Watson?" I too curled my hand around her neck, but they were still larger than the prints. "Quite small hands indeed, but strong, of course. Did he grip you so when you told him that you had failed, or when you refused to tell him where the watch was kept?"

"When I refused to tell him," she replied quietly. "And he screamed quite nasty threats and curses at me, too, when he lost his temper. I'm sorry – I, I was ashamed." Holmes waved it away, his sternness replaced by his desire for information.

"A human error. But this is all important information as to his character. As to him knowing your father, are you certain that there is nothing familiar about him? Perhaps you might have met him when you were younger?" She again shook her head sadly. "Did you ever accompany your father to the orphanage?"

"How do you know about that?"

"It was in the paper," Holmes replied quickly. "If this man claims to have known your father…"

"When I was a child I used to often play with the children there, but I never took notice of the adults, and the last time I visited was about a year ago only to see my father."

"And you know of no unusual circumstances, no arguments between people at the orphanage?"

"No, nothing unusual."

"I see. Well, thank you, Ms. Cummings, you have been most helpful."

"Holmes," I offered, "might not Ms. Cummings stay to dinner?"

"But, of course, Watson; I was about to ask her myself." Ms. Cummings seemed most relieved at this proposition.

"Thank you, gentlemen, from the bottom of my heart," she said sincerely. "Your kindness means the world to me." We spoke no more of the case that night, but, as I again offered Ms. Cummings my old bed and myself prepared for sleep, I observed Holmes, his pipe lit, at the table deep in contemplation. That great mind was always analysing and calculating; Holmes himself was never more passionate or more agreeable than when his intellectual capacities were in full use. I bade him goodnight and ascended to my chamber where Ms. Cummings was already asleep and stretched out upon my makeshift bed. Sleep was an age in coming as I pondered how much Holmes had found out and the cruelty of the small-handed man. I heard the occasional rustle of papers downstairs, signifying that Holmes was still awake and deliberating. Eventually, I was overcome by the heavy warmth of repose, but I've no doubt that Holmes remained the rest of the night at the table strewn with papers and scribbled scraps of thoughts.

I awoke the following morning to the familiar sound of Holmes' bustling. Ms. Cummings was still asleep, so I crept downstairs as quietly as possible. I was greeted with the sight of an old scholarly-looking man with a bushy moustache. Had I not known Holmes' talent for disguises as I did, I would have been completely fooled. As it were, it took me a moment to fathom.

"Good morning, Holmes."

"Morning, Watson. Eat quickly; we should leave as soon as possible. I hope you don't mind dressing up."

"Are we going to the orphanage?"

"Precisely so. I'll leave a note for Ms. Cummings." I hastily wolfed down some breakfast and allowed Holmes to assist in disguising me with a false beard, glasses and comb-over. We left for the orphanage at a quarter to nine. "We are sent to take note of the systems and personnel in order to improve our own orphanage in Oxford," explained Holmes in the coach. "Allow me to ask the questions. Hopefully this visit will corroborate my theory." I knew that it was futile to ask him what this theory was, but that he would reveal it in due course.

"What are our names?" I asked him.

"I shall be Arthur Stone. Do you have a preference?"

"Edward Black will suffice."

We arrived at Charing Cross Orphanage just as the first drops of rain began to fall. My beard was itching, but I dared not touch it. Holmes knocked loudly and a thin, wiry man with blonde unkempt hair opened the door.

"Good morning, fellow. My name is Arthur Stone and this is my colleague, Edward Black. We're sent from Oxford Orphanage to take note of your practices so that we might improve our own methods. Is now a suitable time?" The man looked suspicious.

"Why did you not make an appointment?"

"I'm terribly sorry, sir," said Holmes charmingly," but the havoc at our orphanage prevented us from being as organised as we usually are; this is, in fact, a rather desperate call. We were told that this is one of the finest orphanages in London." The man hesitated.

"Let me get the master." He disappeared and thudded quickly away. A moment later we heard some heavier thumps approaching. A round face with piercing blue eyes appeared in the doorway.

"May I help you, gentlemen?"

"We're here on behalf of Oxford Orphanage in study of your methods so that we might improve our own. I am Arthur Stone, and this my colleague Edward Black; we would be most obliged if you could spare an hour or so to assist us." The man grunted.

"I'm a very busy man, Mr. Stone, and you have neglected to notify me of your visit."

"Yes, and I apologise, sir, but our orphanage is struggling and we have heard that this is an exemplary orphanage. Simply a quick tour would suffice and we would be happy to return the favour at a later date." The large man considered, then smiled greasily and opened the door wide.

"Come in then. My name is John Bramble. We'll see the rooms first."

"Black, take notes; we'll need all the advice we can get." I readied my note pad in response.

Bramble led us through a carpeted hallway into a chamber lined with beds, several small rooms leading from it. Each bed was neatly made, most with worn teddy bears or other dilapidated precious items on top. Holmes scrutinised each bed as we passed and Bramble spoke.

"The children are kept to a strict routine, including domestic skills and general education with a certain amount of spare time taken in their chambers. We pride ourselves on being one of the only orphanages in London which educates its orphans. Are there any questions you wish to ask?"

"What is their general daily routine?" asked Holmes.

"Each morning they clean the chambers then breakfast. Following that, prayer session, an hour's free time, class then lunch. The afternoon is spent working for various employers to earn their keep, then dinner, evening prayers and bed."

"Where do most of the children come from? Do you receive any, for example, of an international status?" Bramble glanced at us with mistrust.

"An unusual question. Most are local, sometimes left on our doorstep or brought to us in the event of the parents' deaths. Rarely a child of international status is taken in. Now, shall we see the kitchen?" We turned and made our way down towards the kitchen. It was then that Holmes began his most serious questioning.

"Where is Oliver Cummings? Is he not the head of this orphanage?" Bramble's eyes narrowed.

"May I ask how you know him?"

"He's my nephew, although I haven't seen him for many months now as I've been out of the country."

"Well, then, I regret to inform you that he was murdered two months ago." Holmes perfectly conveyed that sense of disbelief and shock at such news, his altered face creasing in sorrow.

"And Lily?"

"Her too."

"And the children?" Holmes whispered, his voice full of pain.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stone. Two murdered and the eldest, from what I can gather, largely disappeared from society."

"Murdered…" Holmes murmured as we entered the kitchen where a round, sweaty woman was bustling and cleaning dishes. Although to the casual observer he was a picture of grief, I saw those strange cool eyes rapidly surveying our surroundings in minute aspect, dancing from detail to detail. "Do you know who could have done this?" he asked abruptly. "Did Oliver have any enemies here?"

"Not that I know of, Mr. Stone. The police have already investigated thoroughly. Here our cook prepares meals, occasionally with the assistance of the children." The kitchen was not overly spacious, but cluttered with utensils – they were hanging from hooks and protruding from boxes, several astray on the bench top. Holmes fixed his attention on these astutely.

"And this helps to discipline the children?" he inquired.

"We believe so, yes."

"Where are the children now?"

"In their daily prayer session. We can look in from the door if you wish."

"If it's not too much trouble." The look Bramble was giving us made it clear that it certainly was troublesome, but he acquiesced and led us back up stairs.

"You gained Oliver's position after the tragedy, did you not?" said Holmes innocently as we climbed the stairs.

"So?" growled Bramble.

"It pays a considerable amount more than what you previously earned. That must have softened the blow a little." We had reached the top of the stairs and were making our way towards the sound of hushed children's' voices when Bramble spun around so that he faced Holmes only inches away.

"What are you suggesting, Mr. Stone? That I had a hand in Cumming's death?" Holmes returned his vicious glare with a cool gaze.

"Not suggesting. Merely remarking upon the happenstance that you should gain from such great loss. I apologise if I have offended you, I'm still rather shocked at such news." Bramble remained menacingly still for a moment before turning and continuing down the hallway. We stopped outside a bare room, within which about thirty children were seated upon the floor reciting their prayers. We listened quietly as the matron roamed amongst them.

"Blessed be thou name, girl!" she screeched at one child's mistake. "Begin again!" The girl, obviously terrified, began again.

"Why are you not saying your prayers?" she demanded of a young boy.

"I forget them, miss," replied the boy with an Eastern European accent. The woman pinched him by the ear.

"Our father in heaven, hallowed be thy name…" he repeated the lines.

"We pride ourselves upon our discipline," stated Bramble.

"I see where we are going wrong," replied Holmes. "Cruel discipline must be the key."

I detected a soft note of sarcasm in his voice, but Bramble was far less acquainted with my friend's speech patters than I and so noticed nothing. "Well, thank you for your time. Mr. Bramble," continued Holmes. "We are most grateful to you." He shook Bramble's hand, though Bramble seemed loathe to do so, and we allowed ourselves to be escorted back to the front door. "Good day to you, Mr. Bramble," said Holmes politely, to which he received no response but the slamming of the door.

We maintained silence until we were safely in a carriage.

"That was most audacious of you, Holmes," I reprimanded. "The man looked as though he would strike you." Holmes smiled, satisfied to have infuriated him so much.

"And were you taking notes, Watson? Did you note down your observations?"

"I dared not in case he looked at them. I noted only what Edward Black would have."

"And perhaps wisely," nodded Holmes. "Well, Watson, we are nearing a resolution. All we need now is some solid evidence."

"On Bramble?"

"Of course. Blue eyes, a quick temper and did you not notice his hands?"

"Small. And he's married."

"Indeed. But in itself all we have is circumstantial evidence. I do believe a trap is in order." His eyes sparkled as he said this, but I did not share his excitement.

"He's a dangerous man, Holmes, and manipulative."

"As am I, and much more devious. Come, Watson, do you not by now trust my plans?"

We left the carriage before Baker Street to guard against anyone who might be following us upon Holmes' insistence and it was late morning by the time we entered through the back door. Ms. Cummings was up and dressed, and staring intently at one of the newspapers strewn across the table.

"Ms. Cummings," Holmes began sternly, but then she looked up, startled, and we both saw the tears in her eyes. She was taken aback a moment at our appearances, but swiftly deduced who we were.

"My family…" she whispered hoarsely, brushing her fingers tenderly over a photograph. "I'm sorry, Mr Holmes; I know I shouldn't pry, but it caught my eye as I made to leave." Holmes removed his coat and hat and began hastily clearing the table.

"Well, we're very near the end," he declared.

"You know who wants the watch?"

"And much more than that, my dear. But in order to prove it, I have need of your assistance one last time."

"Then I refuse to give it." Both Holmes and I were offended.

"And why the devil not?" he demanded.

"Mr. Holmes, for such an intelligent man you really are ignorant on the feelings of human nature. You said the 'last time'. I couldn't bear for this to be the last time when you are my only true friends in the world." Holmes' severe frown turned into a gentle smile; he really could be the most charming of men when required.

"Is that all? But, of course you are welcome here, and will continue to be. We can still remain acquaintances, can we not?"

"I was hoping for rather more than that."

"We're your friends, of course," I interposed. "And if we can use your help in the future we will undoubtedly call upon you."

"Thank you, Dr. Watson," she beamed at me then turned to Holmes. "What is it you would have me do?" Holmes at once launched into her role with precise instruction.

"Do you remember a man named John Bramble?"

"Bramble…that name sounds familiar…oh, yes; he was Papa's assistant. The large scary one." She stopped short and unconsciously touched the bruises on her neck. "It's him, isn't it? He wants the watch." Holmes nodded.

"Precisely. He is now head of the orphanage in your father's wake. You are to ask for him at the orphanage tomorrow at exactly half past eleven and to show him this package." Holmes produced a small parcel and held it out to her. We all knew without speaking what it was.

"Tell him that an anonymous man in the street paid you to give it to one of the children in person. The child is of Austrian descent by the name of Ernst. Bramble will undoubtedly keep a close watch on you, perhaps even detain you, but you are not to allow the package out of your sight.

Once you're both within a room with the door closed, you are to open the window and fix this handkerchief to the outside without his knowledge." He handed her a red handkerchief with a pin held on one corner. "Can we trust you, upon your honour, to do this?

"You offend my honour to assume otherwise."

"Excellent," said Holmes, curtly. "With regard to you safety, if you are at all threatened, do not hesitate to shout and Watson will be with you shortly."

"Are you comfortable with doing this, Ms. Cummings?" I added with a sharp glance at Holmes. "This man is violent and no doubt dangerous."

"Of course," she smiled. "He has to assume I don't know how he is. But, thank you for your concern."

"Then tomorrow we shall meet again," said Holmes as he lit his pipe. "You are clear on your instructions?"

"Tell Mr. Bramble I must deliver this package to a child named Ernst and insist that it must be done in person. Once within whichever room he leads me to, I am to fix the handkerchief to the outside of the window as a signal and await the results. And I presume that Watson will be within earshot?"

"Indeed, if all goes to plan."

"Will you not tell me the whole of the plan so that I may better understand how my part fits in?"

"All will be disclosed in good time, Ms. Cummings, but I make a point of keeping the finer details to my own confidence." I recognised that burning frustration which I knew so well, but she argued no further. Holmes was already leaning back in his chair, lost in his thoughts amidst great puffs of smoke, and, with a final farewell to me, she took her leave.

"How am I to be within earshot, Holmes?" I asked with a disapproving look at the great plumes of toxic smoke issuing from his tobacco pipe.

"You, my dear Watson, are to come with me tomorrow morning at precisely half past seven where we will gain entry to the orphanage. You will then, at my signal, station yourself outside Mr. Bramble's office and await the arrival of our friend Lestrade."

"You are certain Bramble will take her to his office?" I asked uneasily. "You do realise the various possible consequences of doing this, don't you?"

"If I am mistaken, you adjust your position."

"And that is all?"

"That is all," stated Holmes, the tip of a smile twitching the edge of his lips as he appraised my usual dissatisfaction at being excluded from the knowledge of his hypothesis. As if to quell my anxiety he added: "And make sure that you are armed."

He puffed smoke circles and watched them floating misshapenly towards the ceiling. I gazed at him for a moment, my strange Bohemian friend, as his spindly fingers toyed with the pipe absent-mindedly, and pondered his eccentricities. He was certainly sure of himself. Glancing at my watch, I suddenly started as I remembered my lunch with Mary.

"Holmes, I'm late for lunch. Where shall I meet you tomorrow?"

"Here at seven. We must disguise ourselves to avoid detection."

The following morning I arrived at exactly five to seven to find Holmes already fully dressed as a humble kitchen worker. Ever the faultless actor, even his conduct exuded the mild manner of the middle-class worker with a charming boyish smile. I continued to marvel at Holmes' incredible ability to instantly assume any role required of him as I again allowed him to assist me in becoming his associate. At eight on the hour we were outside the orphanage leaning casually against the fence, where I turned to Holmes with a questioning look.

"Patience, Watson," Holmes answered as he deduced what I was thinking. "We're waiting for a friend in need of some rest." I refrained from further interrogation and focused on ignoring the prickliness of my wig.

Presently, a middle-aged woman whom I vaguely recognised from the kitchen at the orphanage trudged into sight. Holmes nudged me as she passed and we dropped into step behind her as she plodded to the door. As she removed her keys to open it, however, Holmes swiftly reached over and tightly clamped a handkerchief to her face, pinning her arms to her side with his free arm.

"Holmes!" I whispered in shock and glanced around, but no one looked in our direction.

The woman barely had time to struggle before she slumped in his arms, by which time I had recovered my instincts and quickly helped Holmes to gently lay her out of sight beneath a bush. Holmes stripped off his coat, for he was wearing two, and wrapped it around her for warmth.

I caught the scent of chloroform as he pocketed the handkerchief and strode to the door now with the keys in his hand. I followed and we entered quietly together, immediately starting for the stairs that led down to the kitchen.

Upstairs, my ears detected the creak of floorboards and faint thuds. Casting my mind back to our interview with Bramble, I recalled that the children would now be cleaning and arranging the chambers before breakfast.

Once we were safely inside the kitchen, Holmes turned to me, his eyes sparkling with the vigour of the chase.

"Now, Watson, we are the cook's replacement as she has taken ill. You are Mr. Shaw and I Mr. Johnson."

"And what are we to do here?"

"Why, cook, of course! You take the oats from the cupboard for porridge whilst I collect utensils." I obeyed and, true to his word, found a large sack of oats inside the cupboard. We busied ourselves preparing breakfast in a large pot Holmes had discovered. Presently, we heard a bell ring. "That's our cue, Watson. Take the porridge upstairs and explain our position if asked. Ms. Cummings should arrive as breakfast is concluding. You may tell me all that you have observed when you bring the pot back down." I spent the next half hour serving breakfast and had only to mumble "the cook has taken ill" to satisfy Bramble himself. As Holmes had predicted, I heard a knock at the door just after the children had left for their chambers and I was leisurely clearing away the dishes. I hurriedly stacked some dishes inside the pot and plodded slowly towards the kitchen. As I passed the small passageway leading to the door, I caught a fragment of conversation between Bramble and the girl:

"…of course, my girl, and I do not wish to deprive you of your money, but I must inspect the contents first, you understand, for safety."

"Then I must come with you as you do so, for I am under strict instruction not to let the package out of my sight."

"So be it! Come right this way." This last statement was said with considerable gruffness and I briskly moved and began to descend the stairs lest Bramble suspect me of eavesdropping. They swept past the stairs and up to the end of the passageway where the children's chambers were located. I continued back down to the kitchen and recounted to Holmes the little that I had had the chance to observe.

"His office, I am sure," commented Holmes. "You must conceal yourself outside it and listen for any sign of distress from Ms. Cummings. Lestrade will be joining you shortly." I nodded, most willing to see to the safety of our friend for which I feared from what little of Bramble's personality I had encountered.

I mounted the stairs with caution, dreading that I would be detained and unable to station myself outside the door. My fear proved justified when, upon passing the children's chambers, the wiry man who had met us at the entrance the previous day opened the door and accosted me,

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" he demanded.

"I am a kitchen assistant, sent as a replacement since your usual cook is ill." The man, who looked even more thin and wiry than when we had last met, closed the door behind him and his pale green eyes studied me suspiciously.

"And what are you doing?"

"I need to see Mr. Bramble on matters of the lunch menu." I regretted such a feeble response, but it was enough to cause him to hesitate. My hand was already impulsively curled around my revolver, which I then swung into his neck with as much force as I dared. He crumpled forwards immediately, and I shoved the gun back into my pocket and heaved him onto my shoulder. Opposite the office was a closet and, upon opening it, revealed it to be a cleaning supply closet. I placed him in a sitting position and, in case he should awaken too soon, scanned the closet for any material with which to bind him. With so little time, I was forced to improvise and thus bound him with several rags which I tied together, stuffing one into his mouth. This accomplished, I quietly shut the closet and hid myself at the end of the corridor so that anyone exiting the office would be inclined to look in the opposite direction to where I stood. I pressed my ear against the door and was just able to make out the muffled conversation.

"It was Holmes who gave you this!" snarled Bramble.

"I don't know who it was; he was concealed in cloak and hat." At this point Lestrade and two policemen joined me in listening at the door, with one policeman guarding the corridor.

"You have been most useful, girl," continued Bramble in a menacing tone.

"Wh-what do you mean?" stammered Ms. Cummings with evident apprehension.

"Such a pretty face, like your mother," sneered the voice of Bramble. "But idealistic and stupid like your father."

"Don't you dare insult my parents!" her voice was stronger and filled with a spark of rage. "You never even met my mother."

"Ah, but I did." I could easily imagine the horrible smile that accompanied the greasy voice. "Only briefly, late one night; just before she died." There was silence as these words took effect and I heard him take a step forwards.

"It was you," she whispered so that I could only just make it out. Another pause followed. "Why?"

"That self-righteous do-gooder! Always looking down upon me; he forced me to give the watch back, gave me a black eye, and then sent it to that obnoxious detective! I would have been rich…but now I will be."

"What are you doing?" I had heard all that I could bear to hear and, at these last words, twisted the door handle.

"Scared, little brat? You should be…"

"I'm not afraid of you." The handle stuck despite my anxious rattles; locked by the fiend. Ms. Cummings was trapped with a vicious murderer.

"Stand back, Dr. Watson," ordered Lestrade. "Break it down!" The three policemen readied themselves. There was a cry and the crack of a gunshot. A chill of horror shot through my heart. We had led her to her demise! The policemen charged at the door and knocked it off its hinges with a crash and I dashed into the room after them. Bramble was holding his arm in pain, his gun knocked away, whilst Ms. Cummings was trembling on the floor. The policemen immediately apprehended Bramble whilst I hurried over to her.

"Ms. Cummings, are you alright?" She was in shock, her face pale and wan. "What happened?" She pointed shakily, and there at the open window on a ladder was Holmes, his revolver still levelled at Bramble.

"Holmes, thank God," I exclaimed in relief. He grinned and lowered the weapon.

"We've got him, Watson. And the Prince too."

"The Prince?" Holmes climbed through the window and handed me an advert from his pocket.

"Prince Ernst Von Hohenberg of Austria." He nodded to someone behind me and, turning, I beheld Lestrade with a young boy of about nine years of age with brown hair and dark eyes. The one having trouble with his prayers, I recalled. The article which I now held was the missing persons notice from one of the newspapers.

"Would someone like now to finally explain what this is all about?" demanded Lestrade with an air of authority.

"Watson, if I tell you that Bramble has a son of about eight years of age with brown hair; would you care to fill in our friend?" I was rather aghast at such an unusual proposition until I watched Holmes walk over to Ms. Cummings who was now holding her knees to her chin with tears trickling down her cheeks. He crouched beside her and I watched from the corner of my eye as I concisely enlightened Lestrade as to the details of the case.

"Four counts of murder, one of theft, one of brutality and one of attempted murder?" he summarised.

"You could also, if you were so inclined, include one of the attempted fraud of a member of royalty."

"I don't think it'll make much difference to a life sentence," said Lestrade, wryly. I nodded and left him, walking over to Holmes who now had his hand on Ms. Cumming's shoulder. Her tears and trembling had eased, but her eyes were tinged with sorrow and her face still ashen.

"My family were killed for the sake of a Prince's watch," she murmured.

"Without your help, we would not have brought the murderer to justice nor returned the Prince to his family," Holmes reminded her. "Speaking of which, the Hohenberg family of Austria would like to thank you and express their condolences by offering you a position in the Palace. Young Ernst had been missing for almost a year now."

"Mr. Holmes," interrupted Lestrade. "We'll be taking the prisoner and the Prince to the station now."

"Excellent work, Lestrade. Here is the evidence." Holmes turned so that he was unobserved by Ms. Cummings and passed him a knife wrapped in a rag. "Our murderous adversary, ever conscious of money, washed the blade and replaced it in the kitchen, but evidently could not remove all traces from the handle," explained Holmes in response to my astonishment at his finding. We bowed to the Prince as he was escorted away, then helped Ms. Cummings to her feet. "Would you care for a cup of tea after your ordeal?" offered Holmes, to which Ms. Cummings accepted.

After our cup of tea together, during which Holmes explained how the poor Prince had fled the Palace and been picked up by some Londoner travellers, we bade a fond farewell to Ms. Cummings with the promise of keeping in contact. Immediately after she had left, Holmes lit his pipe and sat before the fire, gazing at the dancing flames in contemplation, the pipe between his teeth.

"A most singular case, Watson," he mumbled. "And neither for its events nor even its villain." I smiled understandingly.

"Ms. Cummings?" Holmes turned from the fire, the flames illuminating his smooth features as he faced me.

"One of few extraordinary people who, when faced with the darkest evil of men, struggles vehemently to shape in the world the art of hope. Rather like ourselves, in a fashion," he mused. And in that moment I caught another invaluable glimpse of the great humanity of my friend and the depth of the bond that existed between us. Indeed, this was a case within which both the mystery of the crime and a part of human nature were revealed.


End file.
